I nod once. “We take him alive.”
Mica smirks. “Alive, sure. Intact is negotiable though, right?”
Jinx snorts under his breath. I feel the corners of my mouth twitch, but the smile dies on my lips. I’ve totally lost my sense of humor where this fucker is concerned. I adjust my gloves and look towards the building. “Striker, do you have a layout for the building?”
“Not hardly. The only one I could dig up was from the sixties. It’s showing one stairwell down to the bar that’s actually a fire escape. It’s the one we saw pulling up. Other than that, I got nothin’.”
“Looks like we’re taking the stairs,” I announce.
My brothers close ranks around me without needing to be told. We move together, silent and deadly. Jinx takes up position at the side of the building to alert us if anyone shows up. Striker and Flint bring up the rear.
I creep forward as we climb the narrow stairs, each creak blending into the next.
Excitement rises in my chest because today I’m finally going to get answers. And once I have them, I’ll make sure these assholes never touch my family again.
When we get to the top of the stairs, I give a mighty heave and kick the door hard enough to break the rusted hinge. We spill into the room one after another, catching the occupant unawares.
The place is small, barely big enough for a bed, a rickety table, and a kitchenette shoved into the corner. A pair of boots sit by the door, alongside a duffel bag that’s half-open. There’s a laptop charging on the table beside an open beer.
Neal Summers jerks in surprise when we burst into the room. I recognize him as the man I ran down with my motorcycle the night I rescued Christina and Katie.
His eyes go wide when he sees my face.
“I see you remember me, fucker,” I say.
Neal lunges for the drawer beside the table, but Onyx is on him before he can get to his gun. My brother is a fuckin’ tank. Neal hits the floor hard, with the wind knocked out of him. Onyx plants a knee between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the dirty carpet. “Stay down, asshole,” he growls.
I move in to talk to him and notice that the fear rolling off Neal is intense, almost to the point of making him have a full-blown panic attack. He clearly knows exactly what kind of men he is dealing with.
Mica pulls the drawer open and swears under his breath. “Nice gun, you ignorant fuck.”
Onyx keeps Neal still while Mica zip-ties his wrists with quick, practiced motions. We drag him upright and drop him into a chair. He tries to kick out at Mica. Mica leans forward andcracks him across the jaw with one clean punch. Neal slumps against the chair frame, dazed.
“Stay awake,” I tell him. My voice is stern. “We need you conscious.”
Mica goes to stand beside the door like a sentinel. Striker turns around the laptop and phone on the table.
“Gimme two minutes,” he mumbles. “I’ll be in both devices.”
Neal is breathing hard, sweat forming at his hairline. He watches me with a mix of fear and calculation. He is trying to figure a way out of this situation. Maybe even trying to decide if he can take me in a fair fight.
“You’ve been following a woman and her kid.” I keep my gaze steady on him. “Years of it. Motels. Back roads. Different states. You know who I’m talking about.”
He swallows but stays silent.
Onyx casually cracks his knuckles. When I take another step forward, it’s enough to make Neal’s composure slip.
“I want a lawyer,” he states.
I hold out my arms to my sides, “Do we look like the fuckin’ cops?” I ask.
He asks tentatively, “Why are you here? What do you want from me?”
“For starters I want to know why you’re phoning in bomb threats to my club.”
“I was just joking around.”
Pointing directly at my face, I tell him, “Notice how I’m not fuckin’ laughing?”
